


The Gold Digger

by InkuisitivSkins



Series: LivMiles Drabbles / Prompts [8]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Drama, Racism towards Ishvalans, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 09:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12339723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkuisitivSkins/pseuds/InkuisitivSkins
Summary: [Royalty!AU] As the young princess next in line to become Queen of Amestris, Olivier wishes for many things. Due to the disrespect she's encountered from all of those around her, she yearns for the chance to prove herself; to earn something not by virtue of her blood, but by her own skill. It is only when she meets someone whose path was never supposed to cross hers that she not only finds a true friend, but also true love-- and the break from the duty that has been forced on her from birth.





	The Gold Digger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Illidria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illidria/gifts).



> For a "Short Sentence Prompts" askmeme on tumblr -- "he’s a gold digger. he’ll screw anyone & marry them as long as they have money."  
> Once again sent in by Illidria, who also writes beautiful and amazing FMA fics, who can be found on both here and tumblr! I'm sorry this took so very long;; I love you, thank you again for the ask! :') <3

She tied the cloak loosely around her, hoisting the bag she had packed full of her belongings over her shoulder with some effort. She spared one final look around her room, blue eyes taking in everything that she would be leaving behind. This would possibly be the last time she ever set sights on the things that were most familiar to her.

As the moonlight gently flooded through her window and illuminated one corner of her large and luxurious room, she first noticed the dress and the note she had laid out neatly on her bed for the servants to find the coming morning. The royal clothing, typically a deep blue, was a sparkling gray as it bathed in the light of the stars; as beautiful and glorious as it was truly meant to be from the moment it had been hand-stitched, just for her. All around it, the drapes that framed her large canopy bed glistened in tandem, seemingly untouched, as she wanted to leave everything neat to serve somewhat as a final, polite farewell. In the other corner of her room sat her vanity, and her desk where she worked on her studies with her servant-mentor. Her bookshelf on the opposite end, however, had many empty spaces in between books, and its slightly dishevelled appearance was seemingly the only imperfection in the entirety of her room-- many of the books, namely her favorites, had been stuffed inside her bag. Finally, she glanced at the wall, directly to the large painting that had been commissioned of herself and the rest of her family. Luckily, she had a smaller painting she was able to take with her; for while she _was_ leaving them, she never wished to forget them.

She ignored the other paintings on the wall, which were of her ancestors. She knew they would be casting eternal judgment on her for what she was about to do, wherever in the afterlife they may be.

She padded over to her door, trying to be light on her feet as she gingerly set a hand on the handle, opening it as slowly and quietly as possible. Upon a quick peek around the doorway down either end of the long corridor, she crept out of her room and made her way down the hall and to the stairs. As she rounded the corner and the stairs were in sight, she heard the heavy footsteps and soft metallic clanging of armor. Thinking fast, she ducked behind one of the ornate pillars that seemingly held up the tall ceiling, while in reality, supports were not needed in the halls, so they were simply decorative. Peering around it, she hid as two royal guards silently went about their patrol. She watched them follow their path until they disappeared down the next hallway, seizing her chance to flee down the stairs once they were out of sight.

Never before had the spiraling flights of stairs seemed so painstaking to traverse; she had ascended and descended them multiple times every day for nearly her entire life, yet now, they seemed unending. Finally, she reached the solid footing of the ground floor. However, she was too distracted by attempting to keep quiet, she didn’t notice the other young woman nearing the stairs, until she heard a soft gasp.

“Olivier, what are you doing up?” Catherine asked, perplexed as she looked he big sister up and down. Her thin, blonde eyebrows furrowed as she studied Olivier’s rather colorless cloak and the lack of normal sleeping clothes like the younger Armstrong was wearing, “Why are you dressed like that?”

Olivier stood silent for a long moment, one foot still hovering above the floor in mid-step, until she finally sighed and accepted the fact that she had been caught, foot lowering, “I’m leaving, Catherine.”

Despite her vague answer, Olivier was surprised that Catherine seemed to immediately understand judging by how her shoulders sagged, crestfallen, “ _Leaving_? Why..?”

The older sister shook her head, “I can’t tell you. Just don’t tell Mother or Father, got it? The whole kingdom will know soon enough--”

“Tell me why,” Catherine interrupted her, “or I’ll scream for them right now.” She drew in a deep breath, her chest expanding dramatically as she did so.

Olivier stumbled over to her, waving her arms wildly, her voice a hissed whisper, “Oh my god, _fine_! You’re such a pest!”

The youngest Armstrong smiled innocently, the eldest’s face souring as she neared the door with a huff, “Come with me into the courtyard.”

“It’s cold out there,” Catherine pouted.

“Then stay behind. I can probably outrun the guards if I go fast enough.”

This elicited a groan from Catherine as her sister opened the large doors, yet she still willingly followed the next queen of Amestris out of the castle and into the night.

 

“Wait here,” the king turned to his daughter, fully aware of her her curiosity and her tendency to roam, if given the chance. “Do not set foot outside of this carriage, you hear? We have very important matters to attend to, and we can’t waste time having the guards search for you if you wander off.”

“Yes, Father,” Olivier replied halfheartedly, propping her head up on the back of her wrist as she gazed out the window of their carriage. She didn’t turn to watch him go, but she felt her father leave the seat beside her, as well as the closing of his door as he exited. He rounded the carriage to the side Olivier sat, so she was able to see him speak lowly to the guards who had taken their place at the doors on either side. While he was inaudible, she was sure that he was ordering them not to let her out.

It was a rare treat for her to be able to leave the castle, and an even _rarer_ occurrence when she was able to actually be let off the leash to go see the world on her own, as she would prefer it. On trips like these, which were _still_ uncommon in themselves, she would always be confined to where the watchful eye of the royal guard would be able to follow dutifully; and considering how quickly she moved, that wasn’t near a far enough distance for her liking. The last time King Philip Gargantos Armstrong III allowed his twenty-year-old daughter five minutes free time to herself, with no guards trailing behind her, she had managed to wander off in _two_ minutes, and it had taken a small search party two hours to find her, making the royal family very late to their assembly with the ministers of a foreign land.

Thankfully, the foreign relations did not suffer the mishap-- though Olivier’s freedom surely did.

Her little adventure had not been embarked upon out of rebellion; she was just so distracted by the colorful sights and sounds and people-- the culture was seemingly _so_ different to her own, despite it being just outside of her door, just out of reach. She was just curious, but to her dismay, her little stunt had rendered her even more sheltered than before. And she hadn’t thought that was in the realm of possibility.

She was looking out the window, counting the scuffs on one of the iron helmets of the guards, when she heard a commotion out on the opposite side of the carriage. Immediately drawn to the excitement, no matter what it was over, Olivier scrambled into the seat beside her so she could closely look out of the other window.

She hated to admit it, but she had never seen an Ishvalan outside of their (or any of the regional lords’) castle. She was never told why they were a race not often found in this part of Amestris unless they were servants or serfs, and she quickly picked up on the fact that her studies (for which the curriculum was hand-picked by her father, of course) skipped over everything about Ishvalan history. Her parents and other royal figures wanted her to not even be aware of the fact that their culture _had_ a history at all, and a rich one, she was sure-- but they neglected to think of the possibility that one of their Ishvalan servants fifteen years ago, Anaya, had a daughter who had made quick friends with Olivier.

The royalty had tried to blind the soon-to-be queen, all whilst making her believe there was nothing to be blind _to_. Yet, Olivier had soon found out that the disparity in social class was very real, and the deeply-rooted racism, even more so.

Thinking back on it, now that she was older, Olivier knew that in her youth, Anaya was not trying to turn her against her parents in any way-- she simply answered Olivier’s innocent questions truthfully when asked. These questions were typically in the same vein as why did Anaya look different than her and Mother and Father, and why was she working as a servant when her singing was so beautiful, why wasn’t she a singer instead, and so on.

Still, her parents did not like that in the slightest, and they got rid of Anaya and her daughter as soon as they caught wind of the fact that Olivier was learning things they did not approve of. She never knew what happened to them. She could only hope they were safe, all these years later.

Yet now, here, in this moment, an Ishvalan caught her attention. He was at the center of the ruckus, yet he took no part in it.

A small child was sobbing loudly, frantically padding back and forth, in search of something. No one around him in the busy market street seemed to be paying any attention, so Olivier guessed he was alone, or he had somehow been separated from his guardian.

She had noticed the Ishvalan prior to seeing the child-- he _was_ quite hard to miss-- but she _really_ started focusing on him as he made his way to the source of the noise. He kneeled, though even as he took a knee, he was much taller, so the child had to look up to make eye contact.

Olivier was too far away to hear what was said over the bustle of the market around the carriage, but she noticed the child’s tears stop once the man began speaking to him.

The Armstrong knew what handsome was _supposed_ to look like. She had seen its supposed face on many of the suitors neighboring regions and nations had brought in to court her, not for her wellbeing and happiness, but for the strengthened relations that would arise between royalties once a marriage was underway.

She learned early that none of them truly cared about her; a trend she often saw with many of the people who worked alongside the royalty of Amestris. The king was not well-liked in the slightest, and that disdain was eventually spread to her just by virtue of blood, even though Olivier had personally done no wrongs. She did not enforce any unjust laws, or call for any innocent citizens to get beheaded. She just knew that all that her potential suitors cared about was the elevation of their own status; and thus, her heart had grown cold to the idea of someday finding love.   

Yet, watching this exchange between the child and the Ishvalan, her heart thudded against her ribcage. She couldn’t put a finger on it, but she felt drawn to him in a way that she had never felt before. His dark skin and unfamiliar clothing, the Ishvalan sash around one of his shoulders, was so very out-of-place in this setting-- however, he felt like no stranger to Olivier as she watched his warm, gentle smile as he spoke to the child. The child in question, as a matter of fact, had now completely stopped crying, and was now paying full attention to the stranger, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his wrist.

Just as quickly as the commotion had died down, it revived as a small group of men strode over to them. Once again, Olivier could not hear what was said, though she could tell that one was speaking loudly-- his voice audible enough above the crowds, yet just muddled enough that she couldn’t make out specific words.

It wasn’t nice things, by the way the Ishvalan’s smile melted into such a sudden blank look, and the child’s afraid expression before being spoken to by the stranger returned upon witnessing whatever hostility the men were emanating. The Ishvalan straightened again, and upon seeing that he was taller than them, a few of the men faltered slightly while the remainder of the group continued in their harassment.

They were drawing a crowd now, people stopping in their shopping trips to watch the inevitable fight unfold from afar, unable to look away in fear that they would miss something exciting. One of the men shoved the foreigner in the shoulder, and while he stumbled slightly, his balance was not lost.

Olivier didn’t even notice herself shoving open the carriage door, startling and nearly barrelling over the guard that had been standing directly on the other side.

“Princess!” He choked out, utterly shocked, not expecting an attack from behind him.

Realizing what she had done, Olivier replied rapidly, “Sorry, Owen, but I have to go help!”

“Wait, wait, help what?” Owen questioned quickly, trying to block her path out of the carriage. “Your father will _have my head_ if I let you go anywhere!”

“That man over there,” Olivier pointed a finger towards the fight waiting to break out. “I can stop them, they wouldn’t dare fight in the presence of the Princess of Amestris!”

Owen glanced back briefly before turning back to her. He mentally debated with himself for a moment before replying, “If I go break it up, will you stay in the carriage?”

“Just don’t hurt the Ishvalan,” the blonde replied sternly.

“Whatever you ask of me, Princess,” he replied dutifully, closing the carriage door back. He called over to his partner on the opposite side of the carriage, telling him what he was doing, before he set a gauntlet-clad arm on the hilt of his sheathed sword, making his way over. The moment the Ishvalan and the other men saw the knight nearing them, they all paled, and while the men fled, the Ishvalan stayed put and stood firm.

Owen said something to him, to which Olivier saw his broad shoulders visibly relax. The guard then gestured back to the carriage, and the moment the red-eyed gaze hit her, she was overcome with a childlike embarrassment that caused her stomach to sink. She quickly moved out of the way of the window, aware that she could still be seen, but only if an effort was made.

She let a few moments pass before shifting in her seat and sitting back up, peeking up out of the window once again. Owen was maneuvering his way back to the carriage, though her eyes were not on him-- rather, they remained on the Ishvalan as he momentarily spoke to the child again before guiding him over to a merchant’s stall. A small gesture from the child let the Ishvalan know what sort of food item he wanted.

The merchant had been wearing a sour face from the moment he noticed the Ishvalan, which only worsened when the latter came and asked to purchase from him. The dark-skinned man had taken some coins from his pocket, though the merchant would not accept them.

Why he didn’t, Olivier did not know. She was too distracted by the scene to realize her father opening the carriage door and sitting heavily inside.

“I apologize for the wait,” he spoke up, voice low and gruff. “I trust there were no issues, Daughter?”

The blonde glanced back at her father before stealing one last glance at the Ishvalan. She, naturally, would say nothing, knowing that her father would, more likely than not, make a racist comment. She knew Owen would say nothing either, and she was silently grateful for that.

“We’ll continue on to Creta, then. We still have enough time to make our diplomatic appearance at their autumn festival,” the king huffed as he settled into his seat. At his word, the carriage began rolling again, the horses outside whinnying as their hooves clacked against the stone road.

With a worried and broken heart, she watched the stranger as she was whisked away by the age-old duty of her and her kin, already pining for this man she had never once spoken to.

 

His image did not leave her mind for the next three days. Constantly, she found herself thinking about how handsome he was, and how kind he seemed to her. The warmth and benevolence in his face as he calmed and helped the child was a snapshot; a painting in Olivier’s mind, always on her thoughts. She found herself wondering actually how tall he was if they were to stand side-by-side, and how his voice sounded-- but, most of all, she wondered about his story. Was he a serf or a servant of one of the nobles in their area? Did he have any family?

That was how her feet found their way to the castle gates one afternoon. The garden was more bare than usual-- typically, it was maintained with an intense perfection; all of the flowers and decorative plants framing the entrance to the white and gold castle that lay nestled within the wide, circular garden. Now, with the cold season encroaching, however, only those evolutionarily fit to survive the winter were present, the rest having gone dormant to bide their time until spring.

It was rare for her to wear big, showy dresses when not specifically performing any of her royal duties, so now, Olivier stood behind the closed gates, in a comfortable, yet elegant and expensive dress. A shawl sat upon her shoulders, hopefully to shield her neck and arms from the sharp bite of the chilled wind.

She glanced to her right, then her left, then behind her, to make sure none of the guards were nearby to see her exist the castle grounds. Upon confirmation that she was alone and out of sight, she put her weight into one of the sides of the gate, the ornate, heavy metal bars creaking open quietly. She opened it just enough for her small body to slip through, and for her to easily close it back afterwards, leaving no trace of her exit.

The market was not a long walk from the castle in the slightest; it took her around ten minutes for her to start smelling the fresh foods being sold as well as the slight iron scent of vendor’s jewelry. The crowds had thickened as well, and once she noticed this, she lifted the shawl to loosely lay over her golden hair; hopefully no one would recognize her amongst the hustle and hurry of daily life.

She, however, had nothing she had to rush for, so she took her time looking around. While her main quest was to find the Ishvalan, if it was even possible, she also looked at some merchant stalls while she was at it. Seeing nothing of deep interest to her, she continued her search for him.

About an hour later, her heart was beginning to sink. For whatever reason, she had started her journey hopeful and optimistic, though the chances of her finding him had always been slim. Slowly, she tore herself away from the busy marketplace, and she began to trudge home, crestfallen.

She had been staring down at her feet, so she didn’t see any of the faces of the people passing by her, yet the low hum of a tune caught her attention, causing her to look up.

In front of her, walking the opposite way of her, was the Ishvalan. He seemed to be just as distracted as she was, since his red eyes were trained on a small, torn paper in his hand. Deeply, and seemingly unaware that he was doing so, he hummed to himself. What, Olivier did not recognize. But that didn’t matter at the moment.

She hurried to him, “Excuse me!”

He paused, confused for a moment, until he turned to her calmly. After mentally connecting the dots, his eyes widened, and his demeanor turned worrisome and hesitant seemingly at the flip of a switch, “P.. Princess Armstrong?”

He started to kneel, as was protocol when meeting royalty, yet her hands caught his biceps in an attempt to stop him from doing so. At once, the contact sent heat to her cheeks, as she felt the muscle twitch, hidden beneath the cloth of his sleeves.

“Please, none of that,” she said, mustering up as friendly a tone as possible. “What is your name?”

He swallowed, very obviously nervous in her presence. Perhaps the law had finally come for him, for whatever reason, “Miles, Princess.”

“Miles,” she spoke, testing the name on her tongue. “I saw what you did for that child a few days ago. Was he okay?”

More perplexed now than anything, the Ishvalan blinked, alerting Olivier to the fact that his eyelashes matched the white of his hair, “Ah, yes… He was separated from his mother and, in looking for her, he had found himself lost. I simply helped him get to her again.”

“Those men didn’t give you any more trouble?”

“It really was you who sent that guard over…? I didn’t believe it was true,” Miles breathed, then stuttered-- “I apologize for answering your question with one of my own, ma’am, I just--”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Olivier insisted, offering him a slight smile.

She was sure he was apprehensive due to the long-lived rumor that her temper was extremely short. In a way, it was-- but only to stupidity. Olivier experienced a lot of it, no matter how short the amount of time she had been on this earth, especially in the form of people who thought they were better than her for whatever reason. She often enjoyed sneaking away to the Knights’ Hall, where she would watch the men train and bellow about old war stories. They all, surprisingly, were rather welcoming of her, but only after she beat one of their own at fencing without any prior training did she earn their respect. Many others not in their order, however, looked down upon their interactions, saying a lady had no place amongst the rough and tumble of the Royal Guard.

That was when her short temper showed itself, yet only a few isolated incidents of her rage were enough fuel to fire a longstanding image of her in the minds of the people of Amestris-- an image the king wholeheartedly hoped would soon dissipate once she settled down and had a few perfect children with a perfect, pure-blooded high-society man.

“What did that merchant say to you?”

“Merchant, Princess…?”

“I saw him refuse your money, I believe,” Olivier responded, her inflection a question. At this, Miles seemed to understand, giving her a slight nod.

“The child was hungry, and I was going to buy him food, but the merchant hiked up the price once he saw what I was.”

His words didn’t _sound_ painful, but Olivier knew they must have been. She couldn’t imagine what a life different than hers was like-- the disparity in where each of them sat on the hierarchical food chain was astounding, and to her, very upsetting.

“How much was it?”

The Ishvalan shrugged gently, his gaze flickering to the stone street below him for a brief, sheepish moment, “Maybe four gold pieces, I don’t remember. It wasn’t a lot, but he made me pay eight.” He smiled slightly crookedly, awkwardly, “That was all the money I had. I’m glad he didn’t make it go any higher.”

She knew he wasn’t fishing for anything, yet she took out her own coin purse, made of woven silk, with gold accents. At just the sight of it, Olivier thought Miles was going to have a heart attack by the way he eyed the accessory in awe, as if he had never seen anything like it in his life.

“You and your kindness deserve more than what life has given you. I’m sorry,” the princess spoke, counting out fifteen gold pieces. After a moment, she gave up and handed him the whole pouch. There was more where that came from; she was not having to go without if she gave him what gold she had on her. The amount was insignificant to her.

“I-I can’t take this, Princess,” Miles stammered, immediately trying to give it back to her.

“I insist,” Olivier said, not accepting the return of her gift. “If you don’t want to take it for free, then maybe…”

Miles was silent, aware that she trailed off, yet politely and quietly waiting for her to gather her thoughts and continue.

“We can just talk, if that’s okay? I’d like to learn more about you and your culture.”

He seemed surprised at her offer, initially. His eyes glowed with the subtle hint of suspicion, for why would the next queen of Amestris ask such a thing of him, of all people? However, as their conversation continued on, Olivier could very obviously tell that he was growing more comfortable with her.

She followed him into the market, where he first told her about his life thus far, as he got food for himself (and her, if she wanted, though she politely turned down his offer, having just eaten at the castle before she had slipped away) with his newly-gifted gold.

She was surprised to learn the reason he was not a servant, rather, why he was not for the moment. He was only a quarter Ishvalan, and most nobles wanted nothing to do with one of ‘tainted bloodlines’, as he described to her revulsion. She never liked the nobles in the area; they were all much too posh for her tastes, and this fact just solidified her negative opinions of them, if they hadn’t been set in stone already. Miles continued on, claiming that, yet, since he still looked full-blooded, he could not find work anywhere. The few small towns Ishvalans usually lived in did not take too kindly to him either, also because of his genes. He was too Amestrian for them, yet too Ishvalan for the Amestrians.

Once his shopping was done, they began the walk back to the castle, upon Miles offering to walk her home. His genuine kindness and politeness blossomed something within her, a gratitude, but also an attraction. Yes, he saw her as a princess at first glance, but after they had spoken for a good amount of time, she could feel the informality fading, left behind in the marketplace. She had half a mind to sneak him inside the castle-- she seemed to finally have herself an _actual friend_ for the first time in her life, and she didn’t want to lose that. He did not want to be acquainted with her because of her money or status, he seemed to genuinely enjoy talking to her.

They stopped far enough away from the castle road so that Miles would not get caught alone with the princess (no one was allowed that, much less an Ishvalan) by the guards. As they said their farewells, Olivier asked him the fated question, so comfortable with him somehow, she didn’t even need to muster any form of courage-- could she see him again?

With a friendly smile and a warm voice, he told her he would be more than happy to.

 

Days melted into weeks, and weeks into months. The princess would sneak out, just as she had done the first time, to meet the Ishvalan. She hadn’t been caught for the first three months of their friendship, having made multiple elaborate excuses to conceal why she was often absent at the same time nearly every other day. One day, however, a knight caught her outside the gates upon her return from one of their meetings. While he _did_ ask her what she had been doing out without a guide, he did not press the matter upon her refusal to answer. As protocol required, he informed the king of his daughter’s little trip, and, as expected, Philip Gargantos Armstrong III forbade her from leaving the castle, no longer allowing her in the courtyard or gardens. He even went as far as to hire a guard to follow her even when _inside_ the castle, to Olivier’s horror.

With not a semblance of respect for what rules had been set for her, in typical Olivier fashion, she simply found a way around this new development. Owen had miraculously been placed as her personal guard, so some quick convincing on the princess’s part rendered her free from her warden. As a result, she simply changed the time she usually left, from the afternoon to dusk. Now under the cover of the night sky, she was even more difficult to spot, and she wondered why she even left during the day in the first place. This was all so much easier.

Friendship quickly blossomed between the two strangers as time drew on, their cultures and stories exchanged at length, over traditional Ishvalan food that Miles was more than happy to prepare for the Amestrian. Olivier especially was ecstatic to finally have someone she could call her best friend, yet all the while, as their relationship grew, she couldn’t help but develop certain feelings, which had not a semblance of platonicity.

Unbeknownst to her, the Ishvalan felt the same way, yet there was a fear. He couldn’t bring it up; even though Olivier saw no difference between them, he knew no one else would approve. He did not want her quality of life to suffer if they were found out.

Miles had been off for their past few meeting, and the Amestrian had definitely noticed. She eyed him worriedly as he prepared the meal they would be sharing, his eyes trained downwards, in seemingly deep focus.

“Miles,” She spoke up softly, gathering his attention. Bright blue eyes met the deep red, and Olivier suddenly felt heat in her cheeks.

He hummed an affirmation to her.

“Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing,” he responded with a small smile. “Just had a hard day.”

“I’m sorry,” Olivier looked down at her lap as she sat. She wasn’t sure how she could help, and while she had debated on telling him her feelings for a good while, she was afraid he did not reciprocate. If he did not feel the same way, there’s was no telling if he would react positively or not. She would be okay without having the feelings mutual, but she didn’t want it to negatively affect their friendship if that was the case.

She was silent for a good, long moment, before she finally spoke up, “I watched the knights train again today.”

“That’s nice,” Miles spoke, twisting his wrist slightly as he held the pan he was making their meal in. It smelled incredible, and he had told her what it was prior to meal preparation, but she had already forgotten what the word was. “Did you have fun?”

She nodded before remembering that he was not looking over at her, so she replied audibly, “Mhmm. I wish I could join them.”

“There’s so much you wish you could do,” the Ishvalan said, turning his head slightly. She saw him look over at her out of the corner of his eye, “If you could, what would you make of your life?”

Olivier blinked, not having expected such a loaded question, “I… I’ve only ever thought of small things, not the whole picture of what my life would be. But I suppose… If I had it my way, I would like to be free and independent. I can do things myself, but just because I’m the princess, they assume I want everything to be done for me. If I was a prince, I’m sure their tune would change.”

Miles nodded gently, “Unfortunately, you’re probably right…”

“I’d like to be captain of the Royal Guard,” Olivier continued after a small nod of agreement. “Then, I would be viewed as strong and powerful, but not as my birthright. It would be a status I earned for myself, and then, people wouldn’t even have the chance to think of me as lazy, or fragile, or weak. The populace believes those things because I’m never given the opportunity to prove them as false.”

“So, captain of the Royal Guard,” Miles said, his tone mirthful. “What else?”

“I would rise the ranks to royalty as something I worked for and achieved with my prowess and leadership, rather than my bloodline. I would create a nation on the foundations of acceptance, taking all those who were cast away and ostracized for things out of their control.”

“That’s very admirable,” The Ishvalan plated their now-complete food. He smiled lightheartedly, “I know quite a few people that would enjoy that.”

“Exactly. I would need someone by my side, though,” she mused, eyes lowering. Miles neared her, setting her plate down in front of her.

“You’re strong enough on your own. You don’t need anyone else.”

“I don’t _need_ someone else,” the Amestrian continued, her gaze rising to meet his. “But having someone to reign me in would be nice. I can be sort of hotheaded, and I need someone rational to stand with me. Someone different than I am, so the two of us could lead together. Having one dominating viewpoint in a leadership is dangerous.”

His blood-red eyes searched hers in silence.

“I would need someone like you.”

 

“Father,” Olivier spoke up. The king was in his large study, a book presumably detailing the history of Amestris in his hand as he sat in his large and ornate chair. He turned up to glance at her, his face just reeking of unenthusiasm.

“Yes, Daughter?”

“I need to speak with you, if you can spare a moment. It’s very important.”

He sighed, placing a bookmark delicately into the spine of his book before shutting it, setting it on the small table that stood beside his chair. He sat silently, waiting for her to continue, the air around him heavy and pressing.

“I know who I would wish to be courted by.”

King Armstrong’s flesh seemed to jump as she spoke. He immediately sat taller in his seat, placing his palms upon the fabric arms of the chair, leaning forward expectantly, “You have? By god, Olivier, this is enormous! Why didn’t you say anything before, my dear? We must plan for the courtship immediately--”

She knew for a fact that his tone would change soon enough.

“He’s an Ishvalan.”

She thought her father had turned to stone, or perhaps he died the moment she spoke, for he was motionless and silent. Not even the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed was visible.

Until he spoke again.

“This must be a joke, Olivier,” his voice was low and grim.

“I love him, Father.”

“You _cannot_ love one of those _heathens_ !” He suddenly stood, and while he was but an inch taller than her, a moment of fear struck her. “So, this is what you’d been sneaking out for! To get _seduced_ by--”

“ **_Father!_ ** ” She suddenly raised her voice, stepping forward. Surprised at such sudden hostility from his own daughter, the king faltered for a moment. “You said I had the power to choose who I would wed. This falls under that decree! It is of my own volition!”

“Not an Ishvalan!” He yelled back. “They don’t have rights!”

“They’re just like us! I have _always_ known that, no matter how much you’ve tried to hide it!” She heard her voice break, and she didn’t even notice the sting of her nails in her palms as she made a fist, her jaw clenching in tandem. “He’s kind, and gentle--”

“He’s a gold digger, Olivier, he’ll screw anyone and marry them as long as they have money. That’s how they all are,” the king spat, venom in his words. “You naive fool.”

The princess took a moment to calm herself, her tight shoulders slowly falling, the pounding in her temples subsiding slightly. In a small intake of breath, her tone lowered barely above a whisper, “Fine. I’ll lock myself in my room and never come out, if you really wish for me to be unhappy forever.”

“Maybe while you’re there, you’ll grow a brain,” he huffed, sitting heavily back down in his chair. “You’ll come out eventually, once you’ve broken yourself. Once you have enough sense in you, you’ll be welcomed back into the family.”

With that, he roughly flipped open his book, ending the conversation.

Olivier spun on her heels and stormed off, yet she could not shake the feeling that the air around her had cleared. If he truly thought she was going to stay in her room and brood, she doubted he would place guards to watch her. He would assign Owen to her, at least, and he was no threat due to his understanding of the princess-- if anything, he was her only ally in this. It seemed as if there were no loose ends yet to be tied.

She would leave tomorrow tonight.

 

Catherine followed her sister through the courtyard, her steps light and high as she tried to avoid stepping on the cold, stone pathway that led to the gates. She drew her arms close to her chest, fists balled right beneath her chin, in an attempt to avoid the frigid sting of the nightly breeze on her bare arms.

“That night, I had Owen send Miles a message, telling him I would be leaving tonight. He’s waiting outside the gates for me,” her older sister spoke, full of resolve.

“What will you two do?” Catherine asked, more worried than anything now. After Olivier told her the story, the youngest Armstrong understood her reasons for fleeing. However, now Catherine had her sister’s safety to fear for.

“No doubt, Father will send the guards on a wild search for me come morning. If we were to stay here, we would be found, and I don’t doubt that Miles would be executed.”

Catherine’s fingertips met her lips fearfully. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like; finally falling in love with someone and thinking you were safe with them, yet only to be torn away-- and worse, the one you loved murdered in front of your own eyes.

“Miles has no attachments here, so he suggested we flee the country. We’ll go north, to the mountain range, far enough from the reach of the empire. I’m not sure what we’ll do once we’re there, but he knows of an Ishvalan refugee camp we can stay in for a little bit while we gather our thoughts.”

The younger princess nodded, “Why did you have to tell Father in the first place? You could’ve kept seeing him in private.”

“I’m not going to live my life secretly if I don’t have to. Besides, what if Father ended up marrying me off to a foreign lord? I would be taken away from here.”

“But when you become queen--”

“Nothing will change,” Olivier turned back to her sister, Catherine noticing how much her eyes shone like the cold frozen lakes that lay north of their kingdom. “The public wouldn’t approve of our union, even if I changed the laws. I wouldn’t want him to be put in danger.”

Catherine was silent for a moment before giving her sister a small nod. “I hope you two will be happier this way.”

“It will give us both a chance to live beyond what our blood has destined us for. I have faith that we will.”

They reached the gates, and Catherine watched as her sister leaned into one of them; it opening with a shrill creak. Beyond the castle grounds, she saw a shape emerge from the bushes, laden with a large bag and cloak similar to what her sister had donned.

Instantly, she could feel Olivier’s mood brighten as she looked up and spotted the Ishvalan. She did not even wait until the gate was fully open before she squeezed through, hurrying to him.

They met in an embrace, the stranger lifting her sister off of the ground and swinging her in a gentle circle around him. They were too far for Catherine to see their faces in the darkness of the moonless night, yet she saw Olivier bury her face in Miles’s chest as he drew her closer to him.

She lifted her hand, setting it on the bar of the gate, the cold sending a slight shock up her arm. Feeling a small smile grow on her face, she watched as her sister and the man she loved part their embrace, her hands in his. Without a word, she wrapped delicate fingers around metal, gripping the bar of the gate. With some effort, she closed it in front of her.

Hearing the creaking of the closing gate, both figures turned to Catherine; a pair of blue eyes not unlike her own, and another pair the stark opposite watching her from afar. The smaller lifting a hand in a final farewell.

After seeing Catherine return the gesture, Olivier turned up to the Ishvalan and spoke something inaudible to him, before the pair turned their backs to the castle, fleeing into the night.

“Goodbye, Sister,” Catherine breathed softly to herself, unable to shake her smile. Never before had she seen her sister so joyful, and she was sure, in the darkness of the winter-chilled night, their love thawed the ice of a once frozen-over heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly struggled with the idea behind this one for quite a while. I've been doing a lot of AUs with these askmemes, so I wanted to try another, but I couldn't think of a good enough verse for some reason x'D I finally settled on royalty, obviously. I just hope I handled the whole racism-against-Ishvalans thing correctly.  
> I recognize that the plot is kind of very Disney's Aladdin-esque, with the princess sneaking out and meeting the poor man she eventually falls in love with. I'm sure Aladdin wasn't the first story to use that plot device but :'3 that's the first that comes to mind. I hope that's okay and I also very much hope that Olivier is in-character enough. It's sort of difficult with verses like this to keep her personality canon dfgvhgb. Like if she was already queen it would be easier, though in this, it's once again young!Olivier, and we don't know what her personality was like when she was was around this age.
> 
> also cfvgbhjk the “i need someone like you” comment was meant to be a reference to when Olivier told Miles she needed someone with his eyes to help her lead when he was trying to leave Briggs :’)
> 
> Oh well. I hope you all enjoyed, and please feel free to leave a kudos and/or a comment if you did!


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